Soul Rivers was born and raised in the heart of Detroit, Michigan. She grew up listening to the sounds of Motown and was inspired by the likes of Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder, and Marvin Gaye. She started singing at a young age and quickly develop...
Once again, her phone buzzed incessantly, Mark's face lighting up the screen before she swiftly rejected the call. Pulling up to Ivan's studio, she gathered her things, locking the car behind her as she entered, finding him in conversation with her mother. "Oh joy, look who decided to grace us with their presence," Ivan quipped, rising from his stool to approach his keyboard.
"Ivan, spare me," she sighed, shaking her head as she settled between them, resting her belongings in her mother's lap against the brick wall.
Ivan, her vocal coach, had worked with countless renowned artists. "Don't let it happen again. Are you ready for your warm-up?" he inquired, pulling a stool over for her. "Let's get started."
The routine began with breathing exercises, followed by vocal warm-ups, each instruction met with diligent compliance. After a thorough warm-up, Ivan shifted to the keyboard, setting the stage for an acoustic rendition of "Double Back."
"Hey there, beautiful," a voice interrupted from behind.
Startled, she paused mid-choreography, wiping away tears before turning to face him. "You've been avoiding me," he remarked, a chuckle escaping his lips as he approached.
"Hi, Anthony," she greeted softly, her demeanor suddenly guarded.
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He frowned, frustration evident in his tone. "You've missed three recording sessions I scheduled for us. What's going on?" Perplexed, she glanced around, retreating to the floor with her water bottle as he joined her, his irritation palpable.
"I'll reimburse you for the sessions," she offered, her voice heavy with resignation.
His demeanor shifted, a blend of concern and arousal flickering across her features. "Reimburse? That's not the point, Soul. This isn't acceptable in this industry. Whatever personal issues you have, keep them separate from your work."
"Okay!" she snapped back. "I understand."
He sighed, his frustration easing as he leaned against the wall beside her. "What's going on with you? It's been two weeks."
"Just dealing with some personal stuff," she muttered, her gaze distant.
His expression softened, his hand gently squeezing her shoulder. "Are you still upset about the other day?"
"Yeah," she admitted with a sigh. "Not just about your comments towards my abortion, but also about you never mentioning your kid after all these years."
He met her gaze before averting his eyes to the mirrored wall. "When we made this song, I could feel your passion. You always cry when you sing it. You really love that nigga, huh?"
She nodded, her expression softening. "I do, but let's not change the subject."
Nodding in understanding, he shifted his position, drawing his legs close to his chest, arms wrapped around them as their eyes locked. "Hardly anyone knows about her except immediate family and a few others who were involved in the details of her mother and me," he confessed, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "She lives with her mom but stays with me on weekends and breaks. It's the arrangement I've made, especially with everything going on—your album, my own projects."
